Dead Woman Walking
by Arowette
Summary: On Lana Lang Luthor's escape from Smallville and what happens thereafter.  DISCLAIMER:  these characters are not mine.  They belong to DC Comics and the WB and CW networks.  This is not a shipper fic, but it is character driven.
1. Chapter 1

The day began identically to the first eighty-two. She woke up, quickly took a semi-warm shower, and plodded through the narrow cobblestone streets to the closest café, where she would gulp down a scorching cup of coffee and scrutinize the online editions of major Kansas newspapers. The waitress would glance over her disapprovingly; her hair was in desperate need of a trim and her fingernails were usually half-broken, the skin underneath raw and blistered. She would hurry back to her hotel room, always scanning the faces on the sidewalk, always sure she had caught a glimpse of his mesmerizing and calculating face.

Her own face had changed. Guilt etched across her forehead. She could read it there as clearly as a map of her hometown. Terror seeped from her pores and covered her in a film that could not be cleansed with soap or water, leaving her feeling dirty no matter how fiercely she scrubbed at her skin.

Her new passport read "Hannah Taylor." Who was this Hannah, she wondered. It certainly wasn't the hollow-eyed young woman who greeted her in the mirror each morning. Hannah seemed like a cheerful and honest girl, who loved to sing and wanted to work with animals one day. She certainly wasn't her, this carefree Hannah—but was she Lana Lang? She couldn't remember who that girl was; she wouldn't recognize her if she passed her in the street. And she certainly would not—could not—call herself Lana Luthor. So who was she? She roamed the streets of Seville, nameless.

_It would be easier if he found me now_, Lana thought. _No more running, no more hiding, no more regrets. _She paused at the entrance to the coffee shop, pretending to read the menu posted on the window. She did this often to ensure that she wasn't being followed.

Too many of these thoughts in one day would leave her wondering whether she was cracking up. For someone who was often surprised when she touched an object and the surface pushed back resolutely—she was frequently startled to realize that she was corporeal, she moved about so much like a ghost—this was not so surprising.

Lana closed her eyes. She attempted to sound out the menu in her head, long since memorized, interchangeable with the menus of the cafés in all the other cities she had found reprieve within—beautiful places such as Glasgow and Brussels that she had, of course, not been able to enjoy. _Cappuccino, Croissant, Orange juice,_ she struggled to say in her mind. Other words appeared instead, each one a ragged heartbeat: _murder, frame, fugitive._

Her eyes suddenly flew open.

Slowly she turned away from the café and began to walk purposefully. Each resolute step of her narrow boot hammered the sidewalk.

When the telephone booth on the corner of Castelar and San Luis came into her field of vision, she broke into a trot.

Then she ran.

As she swung around the pole anchoring the phone to the asphalt, Lana was already sliding the international phone card from her back pocket. She strained to keep her fingers steady enough to punch in the two dozen numbers required to make an international phone call. She succeeded on the third try, and quickly dialed a number long ago committed to memory.

A voice on the other side of the line answered, thankfully, in her first real bit of luck on this godforsaken continent that she had, until recently, regarded with awe.

"Hey. It's me," she gasped. "It's—Lana. He's here, I'm sure of it."

The voice on the other line squawked an unintelligible reply. Lana surprised herself with the calm, sure voice that resounded in her ears. "Lex. He's watching me. Lex is here now."

She paused, glanced quickly behind her.

"And he's not alone."


	2. Chapter 2

Lana hung up the phone and backed away slowly, shielding her eyes with one hand as she scanned the horizon for a pair of wolfish eyes and a shock of unnaturally white hair. Her pursuant was not one of Lex's typical thugs.

She could not see him amongst the jaunty Spaniards loping along the sidewalk. They laughed and called out to each other as they bought their breakfasts from street vendors. He could not have blended into this crowd. Yet Lana knew that he was crouching in a doorway or alley somewhere nearby, and observing her still. It was not safe here, and her only hope was to lose her pursuers.

A taxi stand—her best chance—was only a few dozen feet away. Lana pretended to look bewildered, looking in every direction in turn like she was confused as to what to do next. It only took a couple of minutes for a cab with a green light to stop at the stand. The moment she saw it slowing down, she sprinted towards it with swiftness only known by the hunted.

* * *

"Plaza de Toros, per favore," Lana told the driver shakily, as she breathed a momentary sigh of relief. It was her hope that Lex would not expect her to stop in such an obvious location. Highly frequented by tourists, the giant eighteenth century bullring was the most visible landmark in the city. As such, the square surrounding it was the most populous area one could find within Seville. It was an easy distance that she usually walked, a mere fifteen minutes from her hotel room. Its proximity was another mark in her favor, for she hoped Lex believed that she would panic and dash to the opposite side of town.

The cab ride, short as it was, allowed her an opportunity to reflect on the conversation from a few minutes earlier. Chloe had been true to form, quickly absorbing the shock of her recently deceased friend in fact being very much alive. _Lex can't possibly be in Spain, _she had said. _He's in prison for your murder! _ Lana wondered in how much time Chloe would put two and two together. At least she had promised to send help.

Lana covered her face with her hands. _Chloe has probably realized what I did by now, _she thought. _If she didn't figure it out five minutes ago. Meaning Clark will know everything as soon as she finds him. He might even know already. _Tears threatened the back of her eyelids. After all the grief of these last few months and the series of shocks before that, the idea of her two closest friends looking at her and seeing a monster was enough to unravel her completely.

As the taxi shuddered to a stop, Lana scolded herself. _This is not the time for remorse. You knew you would never again be able to look him in the eye after this. Pull yourself together. _She angrily wiped at her eyes, tossed a twenty euro bill at the cab driver, and raced to her intended destination.


	3. Chapter 3

The bullring loomed above her, a palace of alabaster and crimson, golden windows competing with the sun. It was so strikingly white that it seemed to cast no shadow. A glimpse of the remarkable façade left no hint as to the events that transpired within its circular walls—the lance, the barb, the final sword thrust between the shoulder blades. Despite popular belief, the bull does not charge the cape because of its scarlet color. The bull is colorblind. The bull charges the cape because it cannot distinguish the cape from the man. The matador uses the cape as an illusion for an extension of himself. The bull rushes the cape because it is the most obvious target.

_Which am I, _Lana wondered. _The bull, or the matador?_

She headed not for the arena, but for a small, nondescript building off to its side.

The oak doors of the chapel were solid and heavy. This chapel was not like the Baroque churches crowding most Spanish cities. Breathtaking structures wrought with gold and ornate carvings, wild with color, those churches were landscapes of brilliant hues—blues and reds that nature did not dare try to imitate.

Small and modest, this place of worship was intended for a congregation of one. Its purpose was for the matador to pray for success in the coming battle, and occasionally, as a place for last rites to be issued to the fallen. Simple gray stone walls surrounded eight pews, four on each side of a center path. A tiny rotunda, six feet in diameter, dominated the far wall of the building. Above the altar was a lone painting of the Pietà flanked by two faded stained glass windows. The only other adornments were single brass candlesticks on each side of the communion bench.

The structure's quiet simplicity was what initially drew Lana to the chapel. So many Spanish buildings spoke so loudly; this one merely whispered.

Once inside, Lana collapsed onto the bench furthest from the altar. Her watery eyes found those of the Virgin in the Pietà.

_You knew depths of sorrow that I cannot begin to imagine. Where did you find the strength to stand again? _

Closing her eyes, she prayed to the Virgin. When she was done, she lay on the bench and immediately fell asleep.

* * *

_She was standing at one end of a golden hallway. Archways crisscrossed a dozen feet above her head. Light with no clear source issued from both sides of the hall. A thin layer of water covered the marble floor and soaked her socks. _

_Leaning over, she stripped off her socks and rolled up the legs of her blue jeans. When she rose again, a glass wall had appeared where the far exit should have been. Curious, she made her way down the hall until she reached the thick glass._

_From halfway across, she could see an elongated shadow on the glass. As she moved closer it became apparent that the shadow was a human figure about her size—possibly a little shorter—but the wall was not translucent enough to see the features of a face. _

_She banged on the glass. The figure on the other side rose a hand and placed it where she had knocked. Lana put her own hand where the other hand lay. _

_Lana knew then that she must get to the other side of that wall. Punching the glass did not yield any result. Neither did persistent banging. She kicked the glass as hard as she could. The sole of her foot hurt quite a bit after that, but the wall still stood._

_Desperate times require desperate measures. She withdrew from the glass, ten feet, twenty. She entreated any deity that might be listening to prevent her from slipping on the slick marble floor. She prepped like a gymnast about to do a complicated piece of floorwork. When she was ready, Lana burst forth with all the speed she could muster. A few feet before the approach she curled up her arm for a shoulder tackle. She made contact. The glass burst in a thousand directions. She should have bled a good deal, but she was remarkably unscathed. _

_On the other side of the hallway, the human figure had vanished. In its place was a laboratory lined with two rows of beds. _

_Lana looked around the room. With no small amount of trepidation, she advanced to the bed furthest from the entrance to the lab. Someone was sleeping on it peacefully. _

_The lab was dark. When she reached the sleeping figure, it opened its eyes and looked at her._

_Lana shrieked, whirled around, and ran. The face she had stared into had been her own._

* * *

Even before she opened her eyes, she sensed his presence behind her and froze. 

His voice boomed in the small cavern of a room.

"Hello. _Hannah._"


	4. Chapter 4

His stride was purposeful and measured. Each footstep sounded like a shotgun blast.

"How did you find me?" Lana's voice barely rose above a whisper.

"It's amazing what one can find with just an internet connection, these days." Lex ambled towards her still-prostrate figure and crouched in front of her, one hand on each knee. So close they were almost touching. "Not that I had that kind of luxury in the state penitentiary. Fortunately, I have capable associates. They've been tracking you since Berlin. Your paper trail, anyway."

"Oh," Lana replied simply. Lex frowned at her lack of responsiveness.

He tapped her on the forehead, hard. "Were you aware that framing a person for murder is a felony? Thirty years in prison, minimum."

Lana did not flinch. She spoke softly, eyes dull and cast downward to the stone tiles beneath her feet. "So I'm a fugitive now. I already knew I would be. From you, if nothing else. Once you found out."

Lex stood and folded his arms across his chest. "No, you aren't. Not from the law, anyway."

When Lana looked at him perplexedly, Lex smiled and began to pace the room. His hands looked restless, like they wanted a glass of cognac to twirl, but aside from that he was cool and composed.

"Fortunately for you, I have a friend in the district attorney's office. With my influence, plus their embarrassment for having me imprisoned for a crime I didn't commit, I was able to pull some strings."

He was in the front of the room now, back to her. He appeared to be gazing at the Pietà. "Even when the inept sheriff's department deduces the events that came to pass that day, no charges will be brought against you."

At this she rose to a sitting position. "Why would you do that for me," she asked, shocked, "after all that's happened?"

Lex turned around to face her and smiled again. "I have my reasons."

_I am a toy in his game, _Lana thought_. He is the cat, I am the mouse._

When Lana did not question him further, he turned away from her and approached the window to the left of the painting. It depicted the Crucifixion. "Phoenixes are sometimes painted on these church windows, you know," he murmured. "They are allegories for the resurrection. The death by fire, the ashes, the rebirth. Even though the history of these symbols was always Pagan, the early Church would use them to illustrate religious ideas to the simple-minded peasants."

Lex stood for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. Then he suddenly whirled around and came towards her. He brutally seized her chin. "Tell me, Lana," he snarled, "were you under the impression that you would not suffer dearly for this little stunt?"

She glared at him then, her dread dissolving into anger. "Of all the reasons which might have compelled me not to do what I did," she spat out, "my potential suffering was the least among them."

"Always the martyr, aren't you?" Lex's voice was cold fury.

"At least," Lana said from behind clenched teeth, "I am not the snake."

They stared at each other for a moment, each eye a bayonet, each mouth a thin line of passion and fervor and bloodshed.

Then Lana was on the floor, and Lex was kneeling over her with his hands on her throat. It happened too quickly for her to react, and he easily dodged her kicking feet. She clawed at his wrists and forearms but could not loosen his grip.

"You shouldn't have done it, Lana," Lex whispered as his hands tightened and squeezed her trachea. "I would have made you a goddess."

She struggled uselessly, running out of air.

"Instead you'll just be a rotting corpse in an unmarked grave, and a dim memory to the one or two people that actually give a damn."

She began to go limp. Her lungs screamed for oxygen.

"But don't despair." She could feel his warm breath on her ear. "You've been a walking dead woman for months now."

It began with the stones in the wall. The mortar separating them disappeared and the windows receded into the background. Then the painting became a swirl of cerulean and red and wheat.

The candle flames were twinkling stars, galaxies away.

And then the shadows lengthened and began to fade into blackness.


	5. Chapter 5

_Three Months Ago_

_Lana wheeled herself down the dimly lightened hallway. In truth, she didn't really need the wheelchair anymore. It had only been a necessary accessory for two or three days. But she brought it along anyway, mostly to disarm the guards. Appearing helpless always helps—it is ironic and axiomatic. But fortunately, security hadn't been much of a problem. The sentries had been satisfied with her little lie. "It's only the little wifey," the tall one had said, "Retrieving the boss's wallet." Lex was too arrogant to use a proper screening process, she had always thought._

_But the corridors were long and labyrinthine, and she was glad for the chair, even gladder that it wasn't manual. It had only been a few days since her release from the hospital, and she tired easily. The wound in her shoulder had not yet healed, and much of her energy was expended on its recovery._

_She shivered. The laboratory's thermostat was permanently set to fifty-five degrees, and here in the basement it was even chillier. _

_Door after door on her left. Door after door on her right. Ugly little green tiles as far as the eye could see. She didn't really know what she was looking for. The files on Lex's laptop had been cryptic. It was only because she had stared at countless documents like it until her eyes glazed over that she could recognize the patterns and infer which particular lab had been referenced for which particular date. Though LexCorp had labs all over the world, this certain mystery could be solved—hopefully—right outside of Smallville. It appeared that Lex wanted to keep this secret close to him._

_She had turned a corner and begun a new branch of hallway when she stopped in her tracks. Of course. While most of the doors simply had numbers and simple knobs with keyholes, the room at the end was guarded with a complex series of bolts and locks, at least five of them, and a card reader. It screamed, "open me, I contain multitudes." In spite of the circumstances, Lana had to laugh to herself. Lex had a flare for the dramatic._

_The access card was in her pocket. Lex's wallet really was missing—she had swiped it a little over an hour ago, along with his keys. He was probably frantically looking for them now, if he had yet noticed they were not in their usual spot._

_Abandoning the wheelchair, she rose and walked to the door and examined it thoroughly. There were actually seven locks. Miraculously every lock was the mate to a key on the keychain. Lex's keys looked like those of a custodian, and she had noticed that the individuals on the keychain frequently changed. He must have been here recently, then. _

_It took her nearly fifteen minutes to unlock the bolts. After swiping the access card through the reader, she pried the heavy door open._


	6. Chapter 6

Lana could barely see him through slit eyelids. Lex stood over her, hands still around her neck, waiting for her final death throes.

_No._

Her eyes fluttered. Lex didn't notice.

_Not like this. _

And then her eyes were open, her right knee swinging in a wide arc. She dimly heard a satisfying thumping noise. Whatever she had hit had been soft. She hoped it was his groin. He let out a roar and released her.

Lana rolled over, coughing and gasping as air returned to her deflated lungs. She lay there on the floor for a moment, savoring the pleasure of breathing.

"You _bitch_," Lex muttered. He lay on his side a few feet from her with his knees clutched to his chest. They lay there, a few feet apart, each temporarily in too much pain to move.

"You know," Lex said in between deep, panting breaths, "some would say that to kick a man there is unsportsmanlike."

She let out a delicious, satisfied laugh.

Lex struggled to rise up on his elbows. Lana attempted to slither away, but he caught her by the hair and yanked her towards him. She let out a sharp cry as she felt skin separate from scalp.

He was sitting up now. "You are…"

And he backhanded her. Lana reeled as blood dripped from her cheek.

"The most despicable wife I have ever had…"

He backhanded her again, the other side this time.

"And that's really saying something."

He sat there for a moment looking at her. His nostrils dilated quickly and his eyes glittered silver. _This is what Nero must have looked like, _Lana thought, _as he burned Rome to the ground._

She let her own eyes glaze over in pain as she deliberated through the throbbing haze. Her mind traveled to their sparring sessions, kickboxing and martial arts. Lex's advantage had never been exceptional strength or speed. He was maybe slightly above average for a man of his height and weight. The way he outclassed his opponents was through strategy. He excelled in all matters tactical.

Lana knew that this advantage was lost, at least for the time being. It's difficult to think clearly when the mind is clouded by rage. Lex must have been mad as hell—she knew he hadn't come there to kill her. If he had, he would have had a weapon on him. He would have planned better. For instance, Lex hadn't even considered the fact that her legs were again free to do as she pleased. His mistake, her gain. She mentally readied herself for the blow.

CRACK. The sound rang out like cannon fire as her knee once again made contact. Blood jetted from his nose in a stream of scarlet, and as he clasped his face with his hands he allowed her to escape.

She scampered away, stood, and looked at him. She breathed heavily. A few strands of hair were matted to the mess on her cheek.

In the _tercio de muerte_, the matador will often turn his back to the bull, proving both his courage and his mastery over the animal. He will flaunt his cape to invite the bull close to him. In order to triumph, the fighter must ultimately maneuver the bull into a suitable position for the _escotada_—the final blow. To fail to do so is to risk being gored to death.

"You're possibly the worst husband since Henry the Eighth, Lex," she told him calmly. There was nothing to lose, now. "You had my replacement all ready, didn't you? Well, almost. You were close enough that I had to get out of there."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Lana," he growled. Blood continued to dribble between his fingers.

"Oh, don't I?" She edged away from him slowly. Unfortunately, it was towards the back of the chapel. Lex stood between her and the exit. "So you're telling me that what I found in your lab was a carnival puppet?" She laughed, shook her head. "Was I not enough for you, Lex? Was it that you were afraid I didn't love you? You would've been right." She noticed him balling his fists.

"I did at first, of course." She continued to walk slowly backwards. "But you were relentless, weren't you? Hiring a hypnotist to break up me and my boyfriend." A fleeting started look. "Yeah, I found out about that, too. Then having me followed. Spying on me as I ran daily errands just so I could get out of the house for a little while. So was that it, Lex? Did you know I had fallen out of love with you?"

Lana stopped and narrowed her eyes. "Or were you just afraid that I'd run into Clark's arms the first chance I got and deprive you of your little prize?"

Her plan worked precisely as she hoped it would. Lex dashed towards her. When he was almost within arm's reach, she grabbed one of the bronze candlesticks and swung as hard as she could. She was no major league pitcher, but her implement was heavy, a two foot narrow cylinder of solid metal. As it made contact with his abdomen Lex fell to the ground. He made a low moaning noise and doubled over in pain.

This was her chance. She darted away, giving him a wide berth, and ran for the exit.

* * *

Just as she reached the door, it swung open. She gasped.

Standing there was the man from earlier, the giant who had been following her on San Luis. He was at least a foot taller than she, maybe more. White hair topped a young but menacing face. It wasn't ugly, exactly, but there was something about the angles… It was as if an alien who had never visited Earth had been given a vague description of what humans looked like, and this is what he had drawn.

And there were the eyes. It wasn't their color, an ordinary brown with a circle of amber around the pupil. And it wasn't the shape. It was something that lurked behind them, insidious and threatening.

He had the eyes of a predator.

His mouth curled into a sneer, and he reached to grab her arm. Just as she opened her mouth to scream, a hand reached out from behind him and tapped his temple. He slumped to the floor.

The owner of the hand was a statuesque beauty. She stood tall, feet shoulder width apart, arms crossed. She reached out and took Lana's hand in her own. She moved jerkily, as if unused to this level of air pressure. There was a familiarity to her that Lana could not place.

"You must be Lana." A guileless face looked into her own speechless one. "We need to get you out of here."

The girls quickly exited the chapel. Lana was surprised to discover that it was nearly dark outside.

The stranger stopped suddenly, turned, and found her eyes again. Her flax-colored hair shifted in the breeze.

"Not that this is the best time for introductions," she said. "But my name's Kara."


	7. Chapter 7

Kara could not fathom why anyone wouldn't want to eat churros morning, noon, and night. Lana politely insisted that if all three daily meals were to consist of nothing but churros, Kara had to eat at least one salad as a snack.

"But why?" Kara asked her. They were enjoying breakfast at a café. Two days had passed since the incident in the chapel. "They're the tastiest things ever. I swear, whoever invented the deep fryer is a freaking genius. And the person that invented chocolate is second in my book."

Lana chuckled. "It's for the sake of your stomach lining, that's why."

Kara rolled her eyes and grabbed another churro. "I'm not worried about my stomach." They crunched in silence for a few minutes, each lost in her own thoughts.

Lana was the first to break the silence. "So, how's Clark?" They had avoided this subject so far, each slightly uncomfortable with broaching it. After she found out that Kara was his cousin, she had left the topic alone.

Kara's tone was measured. "Oh, you know, fine. He's… himself. He keeps busy. He's had a lot that he's had to take care of."

A rueful smile. "He hates me, doesn't he?"

Kara shook her head. "I wouldn't say that. It's just, you know. He's got a pretty firm moral compass. He'll come around." She looked up from her basket of pastries. "I mean, he obviously still cares. He sent me, didn't he?"

Lana nodded. "It's okay. I don't mean to be melodramatic."

Kara leaned in. "For what it's worth," she said in a confidential manner, "If a man had done to me what Lex did to you, he'd be glad for the safety of prison. In fact, he'd be glad for the safety of a Burmese gulag."

Lana giggled. "I don't think Lex is terribly concerned with safety." She sobered. "I don't know what I'm going to do. Obviously, hiding out doesn't work."

"He won't come near you while I'm around," Kara said. "Besides, if I know Lex—and I barely do, but I know his type—he's fermenting right now, sitting in his study and licking his wounds. He'll be planning, I'm sure of it."

"Yes," Lana agreed. "I know. But this can't work in the long-term. You have a life, too," she added.

"Yeah." Kara narrowed her eyes. "I'm sure everything will become clear in time."

They brushed the crumbs off their hands and Lana left a few euros on the table. "If it's alright with you, there's one more place I'd like to go while I'm here. To say good-bye, sort of," she said.

"It's not a museum or anything like that, is it?"

"No. It's the gardens of Alcazar." When Kara looked unimpressed, she declared, "I think you'll like it. They're lovely."

Her expression hadn't changed. "There's a vendor who sells caramel churros nearby," Lana added.

Kara's expression brightened considerably. "Okay. Give me half an hour or so to digest, and I'll be ready."

* * *

The gardens really were lovely—even Kara thought so. Moss grew over the latticed walls of the palace of Alcazar. Hedges and topiaries formed mazes in the garden's interior, and tall palm trees waved their fronds overhead. There were not many flowers, but the garden was a synthesis of colors. The blue-black of the ponds contrasted vividly with the bright greens of the flora and the dark red of the brick paths.

The girls were sitting on a bench near the center of the gardens. Lana tried to enjoy their tranquility, but her mind kept traveling back to the events of two days earlier.

"I wish I knew," she murmured, "who that guy was. The man with Lex." She shuddered. "I'd be glad if I never saw him again."

"I do," said Kara matter-of-factly.

Lana swiveled her head and looked at her. "Why didn't you say something?"

"You never asked."

Lana's face was a giant question mark. "I made a phone call yesterday while you were in the shower," Kara explained. "Spoke to some friends, ones who are dedicated to stopping Lex Luthor's 33.1 madness. They've run into the guy before. No one knows his real name, but he goes by Curt Calhoun."

When Lana appeared unsatisfied with this tidbit, Kara continued. "He's pretty small-time, as far as we know for sure, but he deals in internet crime. He's an expert on computer systems. He started out in petty stuff—identity theft, things like that. Then he disappeared for a while. But my friends suspect that he's sold certain key information to foreign governments. Information concerning some of our military defense contractors."

Lana gasped. "But that's LexCorp! Lex has some of the biggest contracts!"

"So that's the question," Kara said, "isn't it?"

Lana looked astonished. "What would someone suspected of selling intelligence secrets to foreign governments be doing with Lex Luthor?"

"Exactly."

She mused for a few minutes. Finally, she spoke. "So what are we going to do about it?"

"_We_?" Kara raised an eyebrow.

Lana appeared wounded. "Well, I suppose I could hide out in Europe some more. We could go to Salzburg next, go to the Mozart museums."

"Oh… I'm sorry." Kara shook her head. "I mean, please don't make me."

Lana frowned. "I could at least do something," she said. "I don't know what yet, but anything's better than filling my days with nothing." They were both silent for the next several minutes. _Useless, _Lana thought. _I'll never be seen as anything else._

"Well," she said, disappointed, "we should get going. Salzburg waits."

"Okay, hang on," Kara said. "If you really want to do something… ugh, Clark's gonna kill me. Well, first we should call Chloe. She can run circles around us with this sort of thing. And then we need to head to St. Roch, Louisiana."

"St. Roch? What for?"

"I'm not positive, but I suspect," Kara told her, "that it's his base of operations."


End file.
